


The One Where They Move to California

by eighth_chiharu



Series: The One Where Dave's a Vampire [8]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Underage Kissing, Unrequited Crush, Vampires, lots of yelling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-29 03:57:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8474434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eighth_chiharu/pseuds/eighth_chiharu
Summary: Dave & Co transition from life in Texas to life on the literal shores of the Pacific Ocean. Can Dirk get Dave to actually notice him? Will Dave notice him TOO much? How will high school be in SoCal? Will Dave find a job that lets him pay California rent?? Some chapters are related, some are one-shots, all are the more traditional "long fic". Please take your time reading in chunks if you need to!





	1. whoever said getting there is half the fun never had to fly coach

I don’t know if Dave flies for ten minutes or sixty, but eventually we land in an empty field several blocks away from the airport. When I look at Dave in frozen confusion, he shrugs.

“Can’t fly you all the way to California, and can’t fly into an airport without permission.”

“Anti-aircraft,” I mumble as Dave sets me down, his arm around my back. “I get it.” My legs are numb, and it takes a couple of wobbly steps before I recover my sense of balance. I stretch, wincing at the kinks in my calves.

Dave waits until I can move on my own before releasing me entirely. “Good?”

My legs are loosening up, but the rest of me is cold and wet in uncomfortable places. I’m dead tired but not sleepy at all. I think my eyeballs might dry up and fall out of my head. “Good.”

“Good. Come on.” Dave heads toward the sound of distant traffic hissing along somewhere. “Let’s go find a ride.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

There’s a major street just a few hundred feet away. We emerge from the field and flag down a cab to take us to the airport. There aren’t usually cabs driving around in Texas, but near airports, it’s different.

The driver takes one look at us and shoves the car back into gear. He almost doesn't let us in, but Dave does some kind of fast talking that ends with him whipping out a wad of money, and the man's attitude improves like someone’s offered to pay off his kids’ student loans. Hell, maybe Dave has, I don’t know.

We sit in the back, my hands shoved between my knees to try to warm them, my jeans still soggy in the crotch and soaking the seat. I'm freezing, and I wish fervently that cuddling up against Dave would warm me, but he’s just as damp as I am, and he's got as much body heat as an ice cube. I keep my shivering to myself and stare miserably out the window. Dave hasn’t said ‘thank you’ once. He hasn’t even said he’s missed me.

This is nothing like how I pictured our reunion.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

The airport is bigger than any mall I've ever been to, and I stumble after Dave as he marches inside the Fluorescent Palace like he owns the place. We don’t have any bags or even any coats, so the security don’t stop us, but they sure don’t like the look of us. I can’t blame them. Dave's acting like no-one in this great white monument to modern transportation is going to question a grown man dragging a kid like me around when we both look half-drowned. They watch us like they're waiting for me to end up on TV or on their cell phones via Amber Alert, with a picture of Dave and an FBI number to call if I have any clues that lead to my recovery. I mean, at best, we look like a family. At worst, he’s looking to star in his own episode of To Catch A Predator.

I push my still-frigid fingers into my armpits and do my best not to look like a tourist or a kidnapping victim. I wish I could put my sunglasses on, but Dave hasn’t noticed them in my pocket yet, or hasn’t mentioned them, and I don’t want to point them out. I don’t think he’ll like me wearing Ambrose’s glasses any more than Rose did.

"W-why California?" I finally ask, because I can't stay mute forever. "You like m-movies that much?"

“For the ocean," he says, scanning the terminal before turning and marching me toward the nearest tourist shop. Personally, I think Dave is walking way too fast to be cool, but then, I guess everyone’s walking fast, and anyone who looks like they got caught in an impromptu wet t-shirt contest (just us, pretty much) might be well within their rights to haul a little ass in their search for souvenir towels.

"Oh. You like oceans." I had no idea.

"No, I hate oceans."

I dig in my heels just outside the store, my arms tight around my chest. The air conditioning in here is killer. I'm shivering so hard my teeth are starting to knock together. "Explain this to m-me, asshat, or I'm n-not going anyw-where."

Dave frowns, but says quickly, "Vampires don't like moving water. It's hard to cross it, or even be near it. He won't look out there, not for a long time. Now come on, you need new clothes, and so do I."

I stare, confused as fuck. Not about the running water, I’ve heard of that one on late-night TV. The other thing. “ _Who_ won’t look?”

Dave stares back like I’m the stupid one. “Who do you think? Bro.”

“Bro?” My mouth would fall open, except I’m clenching my teeth to keep them from making too much noise. “You m-mean Ambrose? How the hell can he f-follow us? You _killed_ him --”

The look he gives me shuts me up faster than a slap. I lock my jaw and stare blindly at a display of shot glasses and stuffed animals, my brain burning itself to ash in an attempt to figure out what the hell is going on. Am I not supposed to mention that? It’s not like anyone here would take that expression seriously. Just saying it out loud wouldn’t mean anything.

But that can’t be it. He didn’t get angry because I was going to talk about it, not if we’re still running. If we’re still trying to escape him, then … then Ambrose is still alive? Dave didn’t shishkabob his ass when he had the chance?

Why the fuck would Dave let that psycho live?

“So okay, he’s g-gonna follow us,” I say, because if I can’t talk at something, I’ll talk around it. “That’s not nightmare f-fuel, nope, n-not at all. Thanks for taking care of that, glad w-we’re all on the same p-page.”

Dave’s forbidding glare melts off of him, dragging his shoulders down. There’s nothing but tiredness in its place. His eyes are a pale, washed-out red, like watered-down paint, and there’s fine lines I don’t remember ever seeing at their corners. “He’s my brother, just like you are. You want me to choose?”

I start to say it’s no fucking choice. I open my mouth to tell him Bro made the damn choice for him, he chose to be a crazy nutjob adult, and anyone who would let him live over a perfectly sane child has a few screws loose themselves.

Then I realize what he said, and almost bite my tongue changing my words. “That guy… He’s your b-brother?!”

Dave blinks, the tiredness receding. “My older brother. You didn’t know?”

I’m gaping. “How the hell w-would I know you had an older b-brother? HAVE. _Had_ – f-fucking shit.”

He looks like he wants to argue, but a second later the fight drains out of him. Instead he asks, “Does it matter?”

“Yeah it m-matters!”

“Why?”

“Because!” I sputter, then fall silent. Why does it matter? Dave’s related to me, and he tried to tear my face off. Bro’s related to Dave, and he also tried to tear my face off. Hey, it’s a family trait. Kill your younger siblings. That totally explains everything.

I laugh.

Dave’s gaze sharpens, worry flickering over his face. “What?”

“You should’ve t-told m-me. That's why it matters.” Because Ambrose is Dave's brother. I'm not his only one. “You sh-should’ve told m-me everything.”

He hesitates. “We need to get you new clothes. If you have more questions after that, I’ll do my best to answer them. But later. Not here. All right?”

I’m flipping out. Is Dave going to become like Bro? Tease people, hurt them just for the fun of it? Threaten to kill them? And what about me? I wanted Bro dead. Does that make me any different from him? Dave has hurt me and Rose. Bro has hurt me, too. Is this what all Striders eventually become?

I can feel my thoughts shift, struggling and slow. There’s something important here. It’s coming, it’s rising like a bubble through my muddy consciousness –

“Dirk.” Dave takes hold of my arm and pulls. “We need to hurry.”

“Clothes,” I say, losing my train of thought. It derails, falls away and is lost, and I sigh in disappointment. “S-sure. Why not.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

The dominating colors in the store are red, white and blue, and with the exception of a very pink half of some sort of ‘Ladies’ section -- because if you don’t like football you must be a pink-loving girl -- every single article of clothing bears the logo of a sports team.

“You’re shitting me,” I say when Dave grabs the closest jersey in my size and holds it out. I don’t really care, but he’s eyeing me like I’m growing a third arm. I guess I should be glad he’s paying attention to me at all.

I surprise myself by hating him a little.

“There’s not a lot of choice.” He shrugs, waving at the racks. “You want to be picky now, of all times?”

“You’re right,” I drawl, “there’s a b-better time to be p-picky in an airport store. Duh.”

Dave goes still, then sighs. “Choose what you want. Whatever fits, as long as it’s warm. Let me know when you’re done.”

“Thanks. S-super generous of you.” Man, I’m nasty. I don’t care.

No phone, no clothes, no home, and the guy I’ve been afraid of all these years is Dave’s brother. Dave can suck it.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

No-one told me there was a team called the Mavericks.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Dave buys the clothes I pick out and we change in the bathroom. Even though the new stuff is still stiff with factory sizing, it’s way lighter than my wet, dirty things. I can move easier, do fucking grand jetés all over the place if I wasn’t dead tired and I knew ballet.

I scrunch up my old clothes and shove them into the plastic shopping bag along with Bro’s old glasses. After what Dave said, I’m not sure I still want them. They were supposed to be something important. Now I don't know if they mean anything at all.

I look down at my hoodie with the horse on the front and can't stop a tiny smirk. Horse shirt. At least I got something out of this whole mess. 

Dave is already changed when I emerge from my shiny metal stall, a bag similar to mine on the counter next to him. He somehow managed to find an athletic shirt with a small logo in the corner, and I have no idea how he got workout pants to look that good on his butt, but he did. And they do.

It makes me angry that I'm even looking at his ass, and I step up to the sink beside his and peer into the mirror, concentrating on something that isn't him. I look like I don’t know how to comb my hair or how to dress myself, but other than that, I seem okay. I wash my hands to be safe – hello, I’m in a damn toilet – and use the water after to at least finger-pick my hair into some semblance of order.

Dave rips off a paper towel just as I finish, the tearing sounds echoing in the tiled bathroom. He wets it, pats his face down and gives me a once-over before pressing the damp towel to his throat. “Warmer now?”

I shrug. “So what now? Do we get tickets? What about Rose? You gonna call her?”

“We can get temporary phones at the vending machines inside the gate, I think. I’ll grab one and give her a ring. For now, we should get your boarding pass, and you can get moving.”

“You mean ‘our’ boarding passes.”

“... no. I mean yours, because --”

My bag is flying through the air before I realize that I’ve thrown it. It surprises Dave, too, I think, because it smacks him in the chest and falls to his feet, spilling wet clothes on the bathroom floor.

“You wanna restate that?” Dave opens his mouth, but I talk right over him, my stomach tight, my eyes burning. I can’t breathe.  My tone is calm, super-duper calm, because you don’t yell in public, you just don’t, and I’m not the rude asshole. Dave is. “You maybe wanna say that in a different way? Because I think that’s a really goddamn good idea.”

“Dirk –”

“Are you gonna leave me again? If you are, get on with it. Go on. Get out of here. I don’t need you. I’ll get a taxi home. Go fly your ass to California. Fly it to fucking Fiji, I don’t give a fuck. It’s pretty fucking obvious where your priorities lie.”

Dave scrunches up the paper towel. “Dirk, that’s not true --”

I don’t shout in here, but I can’t hold my disappointment in any more. It’s too big, it’s suffocating. “You know the worst part? You haven’t even said you missed me. I _found_ you. I came after you. Your brother tried to smash me into bits, but I still tried to help you. And you haven’t said one. Fucking. Word. Not ‘good for you, Dirk’, or ‘why’d you follow me, Dirk’, not even ‘so how’s Rose since I tried to chew through her neck like a wolf with a bacon-flavored Beanie Baby?’ “

The door opens. Some guy comes into the bathroom behind me, sees us, and turns right the fuck around. Smart guy. Smarter than Dave.

Dave can’t become more pallid, but I swear he does. “I didn’t mean to do that --”

“That does a lot of good when you don’t even fucking apologize for it, or for scaring the shit out of me!” Am I yelling? Was that too loud? I find I don’t give two shits. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? Too busy being a fucking martyr to pay attention to anyone else!”

He flinches like I’ve smacked him, but that doesn’t stop me. I’m on a roll.

“But I guess that’s no big deal for you, right? All that talk about you taking me in, you being my bro, it was just shit. You already have a bro. You don’t need another one, and I sure as fuck don’t need someone who doesn’t even notice I’m not there! So you and Bro can fuck off!”

The echoes of my outburst die away, leaving us in the watery sort of silence most public bathrooms have, and he doesn’t say a goddamn word. I’m breathing too hard. My chest hurts. I feel like I’ve run a thousand miles, and Dave just stands there, looking he’s the one who’s been stabbed through the heart.

The need to cry is pulsing hot behind my eyes, but I don’t want to cry anymore. I won’t.

“Fuck it,” I say finally, since he isn’t saying anything.

“Dirk,” he tries.

“I don’t care.” What a fucking lie. I’m a liar now. “Shut up.”

He doesn’t. He keeps talking, his mouth twisting like it hurts to move it. “I did miss you. I missed you, okay? I _missed_ you. I missed you so much that I almost gave up. And I _am_ proud that you looked for me. I’m flattered. Honored. I love you so much, but –“ Of course, there’s always a goddamn ‘but’. “ – if I hurt you any more, I don’t think I can stand it.”

“You’re hurting me right now,” I say, every bit as selfish as he is. I know he doesn’t mean it the way I mean it, but I don’t care. “I want you to come with me. Just say you want to come with me, say you want to stay together, why is that so fucking hard?!”

“You’re not understanding.”

“Then fucking explain it!” I shout.

“I can’t go on the plane with you. Not because I don’t want to, but I…” He looks away, then back, his hands fidgeting, as if he doesn’t know what to do with them – or wants to do something, but can’t. “It’s too many people. If I’m locked in there with all those people…”

He trails off, and I’m left staring. “You need to eat.”

“Yeah.” He smiles humorlessly. “Can’t exactly call Red Cross for takeout, haha. I’m kind of fucked.”

I wonder if I should have realized before that he needed food, then decide it’s not my fault. I’m a damn kid, for fuck’s sake. “And when were you gonna tell me that?”

“I figured I’d meet up with you afterward. I could go hunt outside, somewhere they wouldn’t see. It’s not a long –“

“Dave.”

He glances at me.

“Stop it.” And just like that, I'm done. I'm too tired to keep doing this. I hardly even understand what 'this' is. All I understand is what needs to be done right this second.

“I can’t take your stupid anymore, Dave. I really can’t.” I move closer, pushing up the soft, warm sleeve of my new sweatshirt. “You coulda just asked.”

His eyes widen, flick from my arm to my face. "Dirk, you can't."

"Dave..."

And then I see it. Not only the surprise, but something I didn’t expect: fear. Books and movies talk about people looking haunted, but you don’t really get what that means until you see it. It’s like he’s not seeing me, he’s seeing Dead Future Me. He’s seeing blood where there isn’t any, screaming where it used to be. He’s not seeing what’s in front of him.

“Hey,” I say, because if someone is seeing bad shit like that without you even telling them to, then they’re having a problem, and you can’t keep dumping on them, angry or not. “I’m fine. I’m not cold anymore, and I’m gonna make you buy me a steak after this, but I’m good. I’m offering.”

He shakes his head, but his eyes drift back to my bare inner arm. “I can’t. Rose…”

“You know what happens to people who don’t admit they’re wrong, Dave?”

He watches me.

“They end up alone. Do you wanna end up alone? You wanna end up a giant asshole?”

“… no.”

“How d’you feel right now?”

“… like an asshole.”

I choke on a laugh. “No, Jesus. Well yeah, but no. I mean, do you feel the same as you did with Rose? Does it feel, I dunno, bad? Or crazy? Or whatever happened?”

“No. But it could.”

I nod. “Yeah, it could. And it could get crazy out there with all those people, too. Gotta be honest, bro, if you’re gonna go nuts, it’s probably better for you to go nuts on me in a bathroom than a buncha strangers who don’t even know what’s going on.”

“No,” Dave murmurs, “it isn’t.”

I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t want to be flattered that Dave would rather take out a bunch of other people than hurt me. Thoughts like that should make me feel guilty, not giddy and pleased.

“All right, whatever. Let’s – wait, hold on.” I lower my sleeve. Dave’s shoulders visibly droop. The guy is really looking forward to chowing down on my arm. “Pick up your bag. We can’t do this out here. Someone sees us and they’re really gonna call the cops.”

He pulls his eyes off my now-covered arm with what I’d call extreme reluctance, picks up his shopping bag, then bends over to grab my stuff off the floor. I watch him as I back toward the handicapped stall. His arms full, he follows me like I’m the Pied Piper.

His quiet acquiescence unnerves me, both because wow, this is so not like him, and because last time he tried to take a sip, he almost killed Rose. It’s only my arm – the same arm he punctured before, the same arm he raked his damn claws across – and not my throat, so I know I’ll survive even if he flips out, but that doesn’t mean he won’t cause some serious pain.

I wait until he goes past me, then lock the wide door. Suddenly I realize exactly what I’ve volunteered to do, and I’m nervous as hell. “Okay. Uh, I guess set that stuff down. I don’t know how … Hey. Do you remember the first time? When I was nine?”

I remember. I’ve gone over the memory almost every single day since it happened, polished it and perfected it until its every detail is crystal clear.

“Yeah,” Dave says, staring at my arm again.

I make a face and snap my fingers. “Dave. Eyes up here. Pay attention for three more minutes, okay?” He raises his eyes, but I don’t think he’s all there. “You remember when you bit me, when I was nine?”

“Yeah.”

I nod. “Do you remember what you did?”

“Yes.”

Good, two for three. Last one. “Am I just food to you?”

He blinks. A small crease forms between his blond eyebrows, and his gaze darkens. It’s more here. More aware. “No. Never.”

I push my sleeve up and hold my arm out, bracing myself just in case. “Good. Then do it like you did when I was nine.” When it was the most amazing thing I’d ever felt. When I didn’t even have words for what happened to me. When I wanted more, but he wouldn’t do it again. “Make it so it doesn’t hurt.”

He steps forward and slips his hand beneath my forearm to support it. He touches the crook of my arm, draws his finger down an inch to the tiny pair of round white scars there. “… I promise,” he says quietly, and I can tell he means it. “I won’t hurt you.”

Just because he says he won’t doesn’t mean he won’t, but I know he’s going to try. I take a breath, let it out slow. I step back another couple steps to lean against the cold tile wall. I think I’m going to need the support.

Dave follows me, still holding my arm, still cupping it in both hands. He’s as cold as the wall, but I know that’ll change in a minute. I’m hot enough for both of us. He leans in, pressing his cheek to my messy hair. I think he’s going to bite my scalp, but he doesn’t. He rubs against me like a cat rolling in catnip.

“How much do you need?” I ask hoarsely, my treacherous heart speeding up. He’s so close. I want to wrap my other arm around him.

He shrugs. “Not much. It won’t hurt, I promise.”

“Yeah,” I murmur. “I heard you.”

He kisses my head, then almost slides downward along my cheek, then my shoulder. I’m shorter than he is by a foot, and he’s bent forward when he raises my arm higher. Distantly, I hear the nurse at school during emergency preparedness week, telling us to raise any wounded limbs above the heart to slow the flow of blood. I think how smart Dave is, and how in control. Or maybe I’m just bullshitting myself.

He lays his lips against my arm, just below my wrist, and I shudder.

“Okay?” Dave asks, breath cool on my skin. His other arm slips around my shoulders, between me and the wall, pulling me closer to him.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Can I… hug you?”

“Yeah,” Dave says. “Don’t be scared. I got this.”

I slide my arm around his waist and hide my face against his ribs. A wave of heat spreads out from his hands, washes over me and envelops me like a hot bath. It spills into my chest, pours through me into my stomach, then lower, lower. It pools there, fills me up and makes me moan, ashamed and needy, against Dave’s shirt. Dave laughs once, low and rich, and just as everything tightens inside me, his teeth pierce my skin.

 


	2. he can't be hot, he's my brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (related to previous chapter)

Dave buys two tickets in first class, thinking to treat Dirk after all the shit he’s been through, but his adopted brother doesn’t take much notice of the purchase. He follows Dave through security in a sleepy daze ( _post-coital_ , a part of Dave whispers slyly, but Dave ignores it), stumbling along behind like a groggy duckling until Dave finally tucks him beneath the crook of his arm, and Dirk sags against Dave’s side with a pleased huff. Dave worries briefly that he’s used his vampiric powers too completely and damaged Dirk’s mind, but when he rouses Dirk to test him, the answers to his questions are concise and correct, and promptly followed by “Stop making me think, I’m fucking tired.”

On board the plane, Dirk perks up a little. The touch screen TV, the free Cozy Set™ (blanket, sleep mask, and headphones, all stamped with the airline’s logo), and the safety card warrant examination, but only until the engines rev up for take off. Then he points out the cold window with one finger, tapping the glass.

“If anything from the Twilight Zone shows up to chew that engine back there, you’re gonna fly us out of here, right?”

Dave shrugs, fastening his seatbelt as instructed by an announcement over the PA. “I hadn’t thought about it. Why, you scared?”

Dirk gives him a look. “You’re kidding, right? We just spent hours in the air with nothing but your crap magic holding us up. You think sitting in a comfortable seat in a steel chassis with people bringing me hot towels and peanuts is gonna freak me out?”

“It wasn’t hours, it was twenty minutes. And some people are afraid of flying, that’s all.” Dave glances at Dirk’s hips. There’s no seatbelt there. Without further thought, he leans over the armrest between them and scoops up the ends of Dirk’s seatbelt, clicking them together.

“Thanks, Mom, but I --” Dirk’s breath catches as Dave slides his fingers beneath the canvas strap, the back of Dave’s hand brushing against Dirk’s lap.

Dave tugs upward, yanking lightly on the belt, gaze flicking upward to meet Dirk’s. “This too tight?”

“No,” Dirk breathes. His heartbeat is faster, louder. His skin is warmer, Dave can feel it through Dirk’s new jeans, smell its closeness. “It’s fine.”

Dave stays where he is, resisting the urge to lean farther in and inhale Dirk’s wonderful heated scent. Press his lips to Dirk’s throat, to his pubescent-square jaw. He tugs again. “You sure?”

Dirk nods jerkily. His face is red now, his heart hammering. It makes Dave want to lay his cheek alongside Dirk’s, feel the heat there. Take Dirk’s earlobe into his mouth, and -

“Okay.” Dave withdraws his hand. He sits back and casually plucks the in-flight magazine from the compartment on the side of his wide seat, flipping it open to a random page. “You should watch the view. The take-off is pretty cool.”

He can feel Dirk’s eyes on him, his pupils too wide, pools of black swimming within rings of burnished gold. Dirk waits, wets his lips… and shifts to the side, kicking off his shoes and lifting his legs so his feet are up on the seat, knees against his chest.  He looks out the window as the plane begins to roll down the runway, gaining speed. The engines are a loud, vibrating whine beneath them.

Dave stares blindly at the magazine, not seeing a thing. His blood – Dirk’s blood –  roils through his veins, hot inside his chest, in his stomach. Why did he do that? Dirk is fourteen, he can fasten his own seatbelt. He didn’t need Dave’s help.

 _Because you want to,_ his mind starts to whisper, but Dave stops the thought, slaps it out of the air before it can fully form. He can’t ‘want to’. Dirk fed him barely 90 minutes ago. He can’t be hungry already, it’s impossible.

He looks over at his brother, meaning it to be merely a glance, but his gaze sticks, captured by Dirk’s perfect lines. His eyes trace back of Dirk’s neck, the blond fuzz along his hairline. They meander over the curve of his ear, drift down to linger along the bit of bare throat that’s visible above Dirk’s sweatshirt. They drop over his shoulder, his hand. His knee. His thigh.

The plane roars, engines loud enough to be uncomfortable as they leave the ground, climbing into the sky like the space shuttle on launch day. Dave slams his eyes shut and lets the steep angle drop him back into his seat, clinging to the physical reminder that his hands belong on the airline magazine and not on Dirk. The sound of the engines surrounds him, muffling the crumpling sound of glossy paper.

He’s not sure when he realizes that the plane has leveled off, but people are moving and shifting around him, unclicking seatbelts and talking. The engines are more tolerable now, on their way to becoming typical airline background noise, and Dave sits up self-consciously.

Afraid Dirk took his minor freak-out the wrong way, Dave loosens his grip on the squashed magazine, hastily hiding it in the crack between his seat and its frame. He shoots Dirk a look full of bullshit and nonchalance, as if attitude will fix everything. _Me? Go crazy? No way, little bro._

The moment he looks at Dirk, it’s clear Dirk didn’t notice anything. His chin is on his chest, his eyes shut, his breathing even and slow. As Dave watches, one of his legs slips gradually off the cushion, extending in slow motion until Dirk’s socked foot is touching the floor.

The kid’s asleep.

Dave sags back into his own seat with a short, silent laugh. He stares up at the overhead lights, feeling like he just escaped a firing squad. The recessed bulbs burn into his retinas, but they give him something to focus on besides his own confusing thoughts.

“Something to drink, sir?”

Dave starts. There’s a stewardess at his seat, her voice solicitously lowered, the perfect service smile on her face. He’s embarrassed he didn’t notice her approach.

He straightens up and returns her smile, confident and charming. “No, thanks. Easy crowd on an overnight, huh?”

“Easier than some,” she agrees pleasantly. “Did you want any water? Coffee?”

“No, thank you. I’m good. Got my own.” He raises Dirk’s water bottle from his brother’s cup holder and flashes her another smile. He studies her, though, with a gaze that's too intense for a normal passenger. He's waiting for his appetite to rise up, to poke at him and tell him this woman is a delicious sack of blood - but it doesn’t. The hunger is dormant, and Dave is left staring at the stewardess like a creep.

“Well, then,” she says in a clipped tone, taking a step to move on to the next row.

Fumbling for something to make him seem normal, he adds belatedly, “Wait, uh. Miss. Do you have any blankets for sale?”

Another smile from her, this one smaller. He can practically read her mind. _This guy is an idiot or drunk._ But she comes back and leans over to tap the Cozy Set™ in his roomy seat compartment. “There’s one right in here, complimentary. Would you like me to get it out for you?”

“Oh. No, I got it. Should’ve realized. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Dave waits until she’s gone before undoing his seatbelt. He reaches carefully over Dirk and reclines his little brother’s seat as far as it will go: almost flat, damn, first class has improved since last he used it. He pulls the cheap, soft airline blanket from the plastic packet and tucks it over Dirk, pressing it into place with thoughtless familiarity. He’s up on one knee, one hand resting on Dirk’s hip to lean in and kiss Dirk’s temple like he does every night at home, when a desperate need slams into him like a truck. He freezes, motionless as his whole being thrums with hot demand, yelling at him to crush his mouth against Dirk’s soft lips, slide his cold hands beneath Dirk’s shirt.

Appalled, he falls back. Dirk’s warmth still licks along his fingertips, an imaginary fire that can’t be put out.

He has to get away, has to put distance between himself and Dirk. Dave stumbles to his feet and out into the aisle. He pushes by the flight attendants with muttered apologies, praying that his urgency reinforces the idea that he’s drunk so they’ll leave him alone. He reaches the small cabin bathroom, steps inside and rams the plastic door shut so hard it creaks.

With a muted groan, he leans against the small counter, burying his face in his hands. He’s losing it. He’s flipping the fuck out at last.

He’s heard of this, of vampires that live too long and forget how to be human. The ones that become little more than psychotic shells, existing only to murder and feed. He’s going to have to throw himself out of this plane and pray he lands on something that impales his heart, saving thousands of victims from his bloodthirsty rampages. It’s either that, or be killed by the Vampire Council itself. They’ll torch his body, and Dirk will be alone for real --

“No, Christ, stop being dramatic.” He scrubs at his face and drops his hands, sighing.

This is stupid. He doesn’t want to bite anyone, or kill anyone. He’s not even fucking hungry. There’s some _other_ reason he wants to be near Dirk, something that makes _sense_. He just has to figure out what it is. He could ask Rose... but nah. This isn’t something he knows how to express to her, and she’d kill him faster than any vampire enforcer if she got the wrong idea.

He turns around, avoids looking at the safety mirror -- the last thing he needs is a reminder that he doesn’t exist -- and flips on the water, meaning to splash some on his face, calm his ass down. The tap bursts into overachieving life, spraying water like a firehose all over the bathroom, dousing the counter and Dave’s pants, leaving wet splashes exactly where a grown man wouldn’t want them.

“God-fucking-damn it,” he snaps, wrenching the stupid thing off.

He grabs a handful of cheap paper towels and dabs at the dark spots on his new workout pants, not wanting to leave the bathroom with wet stains all over his crotch. That’s all he needs, to be labeled not only a drunk but a pants-wetter. He leans back and rubs at the damp spots, pressing down hard to try to squeeze some of the water out.

Dirk pops into his mind again, teasing, grinning. Dave’s mind makes him kneel before Dave and take the towels, snarking about how Dave can’t do anything, how he’d better let Dirk handle this for him.

Dirk’s a natural, his imagination informs him as Dirk wipes at his pants. He’ll get the job done, and he’ll do it _right_.

“No, come on,” Dave whispers, squinching his eyes shut again. What the hell does this even mean? He wants Dirk as a slave? He needs his help doing laundry?

His body doesn’t answer. Instead, it reminds Dave of Dirk’s laugh, of the closeness of his pert mouth to Dave’s groin. Vague feelings stir, the desire to bend down and kiss Dirk fervid with ripples of arousal that Dave barely recognizes.

“No,” he hisses, horrified.

He can’t want that, he would never. To be brutally honest, he hasn’t hooked up with anyone since he started life with Dirk. Maybe it’s been too long. But the undead don’t procreate through impregnation; there’s no driving biological need, not like humans have. In the past, Dave’s taken sexual partners more for the momentary intimacy than for any physical urges. He was always so alone, and being able to touch another person, to be embraced for more than a passing greeting… It was precious.

But now he has Dirk. He gets more wrestling and strifing and cuddling in a night than most parents would ever get, even with Dirk slowly becoming  a typical sulky teenager. Dave is proud of the comfortable, open household they’ve built, and he wouldn’t change it for anything. He _loves_ Dirk.

Memory wraps Dirk’s arms around Dave’s waist, reminds Dave that Dirk nuzzled Dave’s chest and hugged him tight barely two hours ago. It replays the gasp Dirk made when Dave bit him in the cold air of that other bathroom, the breathy sound that could be nothing but a moan as Dirk sagged against Dave, his blood hot and fast and heady --

“NO!”

His fists slam the counter, and immediately there’s a loud, insistent knock on the door. Jerking to attention, Dave stares guiltily at the crack in the plastic counter. “Yes?”

“Sir! Are you okay, sir?” It’s not the woman from before. It’s a male voice, one of the other attendants. “Do you need a doctor?”

Dave shakes his head sharply, embarrassed, shame and worry flooding him. They _heard_ him. “No, sorry. I’m fine. Gotta work it out hard sometimes, ya know?”

There's not an instant reply, but there's definite murmuring behind that door. If the engines weren't running, Dave might be able to hear it, but all he catches is talk about 'being prepared'. Great, now he's managed to get himself on some kind of list. “All right. If you need any help back to your seat, let us know.”

There’s nothing further, but Dave’s private time is clearly over. He checks that the counter won’t break before the plane lands -- provided nobody tries to join the Mile High Club on it -- and washes his hands for the sake of the noise it makes. When he pushes the door open, he goes slowly, trying to look like someone who’s on the losing end of airsickness, and not like a vampire who has no idea if he’s about to go stark raving bananas.

Three flight attendants stand there in a group, watching as he smiles weakly at them and heads back to his place. No-one follows him or asks him any further questions, but he has to be on his best behavior for the rest of the flight if he doesn't want to raise any more red flags. He lowers himself into his seat and glances at Dirk, guilt beginning to well up from the dark, uncertain places inside of him. Like Dirk needs this night to be any harder than it already is.

"Oh. Awake already?"

Dirk shrugs. His forehead is creased with concern. He glances at Dave’s wet groin, and the crease deepens into a frown. “You okay?” he asks quietly. “You didn’t actually pee, did you? Maybe you're the one afraid of flying."

"Maybe so." That's too honest to let it lie. "I'm okay."

Dirk frowns harder. "You need another…?” He lifts his arm, tenting the blanket.

“No,” Dave says, touched by Dirk's generosity. He isn't lying, though; the craving for Dirk’s touch has lessened. Breaking things is a good temporary solution to almost anything. “It's all right. I don’t. I’m good.”

“Lemme know if you do,” Dirk says, smothering a yawn with one hand. “I got enough for a refill.”

“Yeah, okay.”

"Your eyes are really red again."

Dave doesn't know how to answer that. He didn't know they were. Was that what the flight attendants saw when he stepped out of the bathroom? Is that what made them stay back? He shrugs. "It'll go away."

Dirk is quiet. He opens his mouth, then shuts it, unable to say whatever it is he needs to say. Finally he drapes his arm over the divider, hand out, fingers wiggling. “Here.”

“What’s that for?”

“What do you think, asshole?” He wiggles faster. “It's to hold. Take it. I think you need it, if that beat-to-hell magazine you’re trying to hide is any indication.”

Dave hesitates, examining the fine lines in Dirk’s wrist. He can’t think of anything to say, either. Sheepish, he takes Dirk’s hand, closing his larger one around it.

Dirk’s frown eases, and he murmurs, voice soft, secretive, “I’m here, okay? I’m right here, I’ll give you more if you want it.”

“I know,” Dave acknowledges, still looking at their joined hands.

“They got cookies on this thing. I’ll eat those after, it’ll be just like visiting the fucking Red Cross on TV. You’ll tell me if you need more, right? Because you promised you’d talk to me from now on. You _promised_.”

Dave nods. “I will, I know. I’m… I’m okay.” And he is, oddly enough. He runs his thumb over the back of Dirk’s hand, and somehow, even this little bit of contact makes him -- not _calmer_ , but _patient_. “Go to sleep, kiddo. We’ve still got two hours til LAX.”

Dirk shoots him another suspicious look, but it’s clear he has no desire to pretend he's not tired after everything that’s happened in the past five hours. "We're getting you new sunglasses the second we land," he decrees. He twines his fingers with Dave’s, gives him one last once-over, and shuts his eyes. 

In a few minutes he’s asleep again, mussed hair in his face, his grip softening. Dave wonders if he should let go, but he doesn't think Dirk would like that. He was told to hold on, so he does. He holds on, for both of them.


	3. gather ye rosebuds before she gets pissed that you left her behind

Dave is as good as his word: he has her boy.

Dirk is awaiting Rose when she arrives at LAX, her anxiety chewing acidic holes in her stomach. She gives a little cry when she sees him in the carpeted hallway, hurrying her steps so she’s practically jogging. It’s unseemly, but Dirk peels away from Dave and runs to meet her, colliding against her in a mutual hug that threatens to squeeze the life out of both of them.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, hugging her tight.

“It’s all right, my dearest, I know you had to find him,” she answers, her eyes teary. She doesn’t want to let go, but eventually she blinks back the emotion and steps back. She holds him at arm’s length while she scans him with her magical sight, examining his aura and checking him for traces of any other supernatural interference. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“It was just a plane ride,” Dirk says. “My ass is numb, but other than that.” He shrugs, nonchalance completely unconvincing.

“Mm, you know the color changes when you’re trying to lie to me?” she asks archly, releasing him with a sharp pat on one arm. It’s the truth: Dirk is almost always orange with swirls of bright red and pink, but she doesn’t blame him for the hints of clouded, dirty blue or the streaks of blinding yellow that spark through his aura. It’s been a terrifying few hours; anyone would be scrabbling for control in a situation like this.

Dirk makes a face, unaware of the depth of her observation. “I’m not lying about anything. I haven’t even said anything.  I’ve been on a plane for four hours, I don’t have a lot to confess that you haven’t already heard.”

“Mhm. And how was your first flight?”

“It was okay,” he shrugs, and his aura spikes yellow again. He’s almost embarrassed, she thinks, but she’s not positive.

“Only okay? Maybe your next one will be more exciting.

“Well, Dave.” She turns toward the cause of everything, her voice cooling noticeably. Dave’s aura remains as it always is: an occluded gray, defying her scrutiny. It’s a talent Rose envies, though Rose doesn’t suppose Dave does it on purpose. “You saved him, so I won’t castigate your month-long sulk, but we’re going to talk about your little vacation later. Did you book the hotel room?”

Dave purses his lips, having the decency to appear embarrassed. “Not yet, but I can –“

She cuts him off. “I didn’t think so. I’ve picked a discrete place close to the beach, and told them we’d be in around midnight.  You’ll be paying the bill, of course.”

Dirk gives a low whistle, shooting Dave a commiserating look. _You’re busted, bro._

Rose pays him no heed. Dave is definitely ‘busted’, and he’ll hear about it as soon as they’re somewhere private. “I also arranged for the shuttle to take us there, with our luggage. If you two gentlemen would be kind enough to follow me downstairs, we can collect our things and be on our way.”

“Things?”

She nods. “You didn’t think I’d leave you unclothed and unattached, did you? Now let’s go. The sooner we’re packed up, the sooner we get you out of those interesting new ensembles you’re both wearing.”

Rose take’s Dirk’s hand and marches off toward the luggage carousels with a briskness she doesn’t feel. She’s still afraid, she still has a thousand questions, but she knows how to bide her time. For now, keeping track of Dirk is enough.

She senses more than sees him glance backward at Dave, but he adjusts his hand in her grip and doesn’t try to pull away. “I’m okay, Rose, really. I swear.”

“I know, dear,” she replies calmly, though she’s not as certain of that as she’d like to be.

 

**~***~**~***~**~***~**

 

They reach the hotel at half past twelve, she and Dirk footsore, and, as he colloquially puts it, butt-sore from all the sitting. The hiss of the waves is audible even here, a block away from the ocean, and the air is damp and fragrant with salt. When Dave emerges from the taxi, his jaw is tight, his brow furrowed. Rose’s neck aches when she sees him, the new pink scar there giving a phantom twinge, and she presses her hand to it, taking a slow, deep breath.

“So this is it?” Dirk is beside her, looking over the long building, constructed almost like a mansion.

She drops her arm, nodding. “This is the place. I think it’s rather quaint, don’t you?” She glances at the columns and windows, but she can’t keep her eyes from returning to Dave, and her thoughts from wondering what he might do.

“Dave’s really tired,” Dirk says, following her gaze. “But he’s fine. He promised me he’d tell me if he wasn’t.”

“Mm,” Rose answers. “That sounds like a step in the right direction.”

Their room has been long ready, and after the bellhop drops off their luggage and Dave tips the man, Dirk wanders the room like a little kid, opening all the doors and closets, peering into the empty spaces and gaping at the expensive furnishings.

“This place is huge. Why’d you get such a big room?”

Rose removes her coat, then sits to take her shoes off. “Because there’s three of us, and we’d be cramped in anything smaller. I’m not about to split us up on our first night here. Did you think I learned nothing from the horror films you had us watch?”

Dirk gives her a tiny smile, then pokes his head into the ‘bedroom’, a small room with a king-sized bed that’s cordoned off by graceful white French doors. “But there’s only one bed.”

“I figured you two could use your space. I’ll sleep on the couch. I’ve become accustomed to it.”

“That’s not right –“ Dirk starts to protest, but Rose cuts him off.

“I’m fine, dear. You and Dave may use the bed. You’re accustomed to sleeping with him, and you won’t both fit on the couch. Besides, as much as I adore you, I don’t think we’d make good bedfellows. Sharing with me might be… awkward for a boy your age.”

Dirk glances at Dave, but his older brother doesn’t say anything. He stays where he is by the sliding glass door, his back to the beautiful view of the Pacific Ocean beneath the moon, his arms stiff at his sides. He looks drawn and uncomfortable, and oddly vulnerable without his sunglasses.

“Go get changed, Dirk,” Rose says, trying to carry on as if this is all very normal, with a very clear procedure. It isn’t, and they all know that, but sometimes routine is all a person has. “I packed your pajamas in your duffel bag.”

Dirk blinks, eyebrows up in excitement. “You did? That's right, you did. Holy fucking shit, my own clothes. I owe you a billion dollars.”

“Language. Your toothbrush and other toiletries are in there as well.” His mouth twitches, and she adds, “I didn’t forget your hair wax, don’t worry.”

“Goddamn – DARN it, I knew you were the best auntie for a reason. I love you.” Dirk gives Rose a quick hug, then grabs his bag from the neatly-stacked pile and disappears into the bathroom.

The heavy door shuts firmly, the sound of the fan inside muted, and Rose looks at Dave. “We have to talk.”

He doesn’t move. “I figured we’d need to.”

“You put us all in danger with your lamentably poor decision making.”

“...yeah, I noticed that.”

“And if I know Dirk, he’s either said nothing about it, or he’s read you the riot act and lambasted you thoroughly.”

Dave grimaces. “He told me off. He’s had his turn. It’s only fair you get yours.”

“Please. I’m not looking to vent my spleen about my own safety, or my own concerns. You already know about those, and you know what I’ve given up to be here. I had little choice in the matter, but not because of Ambrose. It’s because of Dirk.”

“He’s safe now,” Dave says quickly, firmly. “I made sure.”

“You can’t make sure,” Rose answers just as swiftly. “You can’t know where Ambrose is, unless you killed him. Did you kill him?”

Dave pales somehow, looking away. “No.”

“Fine,” Rose says, shrugging. “I wouldn’t expect you to kill your own family – he is your family, isn’t he? Don’t answer, I can tell. It’s obvious. In any case, it’s reassuring to me that you didn’t do it, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist on widening my options.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not going to be caught unawares again. I came here to protect Dirk, and that’s what I’m going to do. That means I’ll not only keep tabs on Ambrose in any way that I can, but I’ll be watching you as well. I have spells that can accomplish this to a certain degree of satisfaction, and you’re going to allow me to cast them.”

“I see.”

“This isn’t negotiable. Don’t think you can bargain your way out of this. You adopted him, and you made me responsible for him. He could have lost his arm when you lost control of yourself. He could’ve lost his _life_ , running after you the way he did.” Her voice is still low so Dirk won’t hear, but it’s no less commanding. “This is impermissible. You cannot _do_ this. So take note, Dave Strider. Utilize your very best note-taking pen. If I think you’re going to hurt Dirk again, I’ll stop you, and I’ll use any means at my disposal to accomplish that. Do you understand me?”

Dave nods jerkily. “Yes.”

“Do you? I won’t hesitate next time, Dave.”

He nods again, impatient. “I know. You’re right. I understand. Rose…” He pauses, drawing himself up, shoulders back. He takes a breath in to speak, the gesture seeming very human, even if the words that follow are too rushed. “I need you to protect Dirk. If you’re still willing - I want you to be my human Servant.”

She blinks, genuinely taken aback. Of all the answers he might’ve said, she wasn’t expecting that one. She’d thought they were well past that route, that he’d never dare try such a thing again. It was a hideous mess, the worst mistake she’d made as a witch, the worst he’d made as a parent. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He moves forward, urgent in his earnestness. “I know what happened last time. You’ve got every reason to say no, but I won’t do that again. I’ll be careful.”

Her hand goes to her neck before she can stop it, and she flushes at her own weakness.

Dave stops, his eyebrows creasing then smoothing as if he’s trying to keep his expression neutral. He doesn’t have his sunglasses to hide behind, and he’s not used to facing her unmasked. “It was stupid of me to try something as important as a Contract without feeding first, especially after that whole thing with Dirk’s school. But you have my word: I won’t flip out this time, I swear it.” He shifts his weight, his hands fidgeting. “I won’t hurt you. I want you around way too much to hurt you again. And Dirk would murder me if I did.”

He believes what he’s saying, she’s certain of that, but how does she know it’s actually the truth? Then again, if she gained the power he’s speaking of… if he has things under control when they attempt to Mark her again, and she receives the first Mark, or even the Second, without mishap…

“I’ll want to take precautions,” she says slowly.

“Of course,” he agrees, too fast. He wants to do this. He wants her to be stronger, to defend Dirk from monsters, which includes Dave himself if it comes to that.

“When?” She forces her hand down, folds both in her lap and presses them against her skirt. “When do you see this happening?”

“A week,” Dave replies. “That’ll give me enough time to find … you know. Somewhere to feed. It’s harder to locate livestock around the beach. There’s some horses, but…” He shrugs. “I’ll figure it out. We’re doing this for Dirk. I _have_ to figure it out.”

That part, at least, is true. He does have to figure it out. And it's even more true that this is for Dirk, from both of them. It didn’t used to be. A few months ago, when she’d been merely a nanny and hardly anything more, it had been for her. But the past weeks have changed her. They've revealed something about herself that she, for all her prideful introspection, hadn’t noticed.

She has never been ‘merely a nanny’.

“A week then.” She motions toward the little closeted bedroom area, with its neatly made-up bed, the sheets a pleasant mix of sea-foam green and off-white stripes. “Go on and take your things in there. I brought both your laptops. I thought that might help.”

Dave lights up like Dirk did when she mentioned the clothes, suddenly seeming younger than his 23-year-old appearance. “Seriously? Jesus, Rose, you’re amazing. That’ll help a lot. I got some stuff I'm working on, stuff that might help us. You’re -- you really are the best auntie. Thank you.”

She smiles graciously. They don't hug, but she doesn't mind the caution at present. She watches him grab his and Dirk’s bags and lug them into the small room, then go to the bathroom door and knock, telling Dirk to come out and see what Rose brought him. She appreciates the acknowledgement, but she doesn’t need credit. Dirk knows she loves him. Right now, she needs a long bath, and a moment alone. She has planning to do.


	4. don't touch anything, you might break it

They don’t talk much once they’re clean, teeth brushed and faces washed. In his old pajamas, Dirk feels less like a refugee and more like a kid on a really weird vacation. He doesn’t have a phone to play with -- Dave promises they’ll get him one tomorrow -- or any books to read -- Rose says she’ll take him out after breakfast to find some -- so he gets into bed and flips on the flat-screen TV, ready to do some serious channel surfing while Dave goes downstairs to talk to the people at the front desk about his strict need for privacy. He tries to stay awake until Dave gets back, but the red display of the digital clock beside the bed clicks closer and closer to 5AM, and eventually, Dirk passes out.

He wakes cradled in Dave’s too-still arms, Dave’s body a line of cold along Dirk’s own beneath the hotel blankets. The light from one of the reading lamps pushes back the darkness with a soft golden glow. On the other side of the double doors and their soft white curtains, a television is playing something unintelligible, muffled about as much as it would be back home. Beneath that, fainter but still audible, the sound of a shower running. Rose must be up, getting ready for the day. It must be later than he thinks.

Dirk rolls carefully onto his back, maintaining as much of Dave’s hold as he can. He hesitates, then whispers, “Dave?”

Dave doesn’t move, or reply. Dirk touches the tip of Dave’s nose lightly, ready to pretend he’s messing around, but his adopted older brother is quiet as stone, gone to wherever he goes during the day. It used to be unsettling when Dirk was little, but now it’s routine. Dirk’s mind even adds that this is good, that it makes sense. He’d much rather Dave be here with him than not, acting the way he should be acting. Normal.

A glimpse of the digital clock proves that, despite the darkness of the room, it’s ten in the morning. Ten is far too late for Dave to stay up. He probably passed out closer to eight than ten, maybe even around seven, or at sunrise. Dirk doesn’t blame him. It’s been a stressful night.

The idea that Rose hasn’t come to wake Dirk up, and probably won’t, gives Dirk ideas he almost never indulges in at home. Cautiously, he caresses Dave’s smooth cheek, forever handsome, forever free of stubble. He slides the back of his fingers down the curve of Dave’s jaw, along his chin, lifting his hand when he reaches Dave’s lips. He could touch them, explore their cool softness… but he won’t. Not without permission. It’s not right.

He raises up enough to kiss Dave’s forehead instead, lingering with his lips pressed to Dave’s skin, Dave’s soft hair and cologne beneath Dirk’s nose, until his neck grows tired and he lowers himself back to the hotel bed.

“Dave,” he whispers again, a hint of pleading in it. But Dave is quiet as the grave, and Rose’s shower runs on.

The clock claims two minutes have passed. Is seems so short. It’s always so  _ short _ , his time with Dave.

Suddenly aching, Dirk looks down where Dave’s arm rests across Dirk’s waist. He shoots a glance at Dave’s slack face, then tugs his own t-shirt up, pulling it from beneath the weight of Dave’s bare forearm. Dave’s skin touches Dirk’s, his arm along Dirk’s ribs, his hand curled off to the side, fingertips brushing Dirk’s side. Dirk bites his lip, heat rushing through him, gathering and swelling in deep, secret places.  He lifts Dave’s arm, bends the elbow and rests Dave’s cool palm against Dirk’s exposed chest. His breath catches, his heart pounds.

Slowly, he slides Dave’s hand downward. The limp fingers slide along Dirk’s ribs. The palm skates over Dirk’s stomach. Dave’s touch is icy and scalding at the same time, and Dirk closes his eyes at the ripples of dark yearning that spread through him, stirring parts of him to stiff attention in his pyjama bottoms. Dave’s hand slips farther, past Dirk’s navel, brushing over the sparse dusting of curly blond hair on his lower abdomen. He reaches the waistband of Dirk’s pyjamas and pauses, finger tracing the elastic.

Dirk lays there, Dave’s wrist in one hand, and opens his eyes. Breathing hard, he stares up at the ceiling, his grip tightening until his own joints tremble with effort, and his lower half starts to throb uncomfortably. But he can’t. He just…  _ can’t. _

The shower stops. He goes as still as Dave, listening as the bathroom door opens, and the channel on the television changes once, twice. 

“Dirk?” Rose knocks quietly on the little bedroom’s door. “Are you awake, dear?”

If he doesn’t answer, she’ll open the door. If he does answer, she might still open the door. And if she doesn’t open the door...

He drops Dave’s arm across himself and rolls onto his side, frustration burning through him beneath the literal dead weight of Dave's limb. “I’m awake. I need to shower.”

“I expected nothing less. Come out when you’re ready. We’ll order breakfast before you begin your hour-long excursion into the surprisingly elegant bathroom. That should insure the food arrives just as you’re finishing. Room service is notoriously slow.”

Dirk wouldn’t know. He doesn’t remember staying in a hotel that had room service before. But he nods against the mattress, his throat tight. “Okay. Be right there.”

He can tell when she leaves, though the room is still dark and there’s no new noises. She goes back to the bathroom, or to finish dressing, and doesn’t open the white French door after all. But she knows he’s awake, and that’s enough to make him push himself up, letting Dave’s arm fall where it may. He stands without looking back, bare feet on the thick carpeting, pulls his shirt down, and goes to the double doors, pulling one open.

 


	5. dream 2 fast

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, maybe it’s having enough morals to not jerk off in my older brother’s bed and come on his sleeping face, but whatever the hell it is, I’m cranky as fuck.

The shower goes well - short, but well - then Rose drags me out to go “exploring”, a pointless excursion since we all have Google Maps and Yelp if we want to learn what’s around the hotel, but when I protest that I should stay in the room and unpack (and by ‘unpack’, I mean spend some quality ‘me time’ in that big white bathroom that I didn't get to savor with her sitting right in the next room watching cop shows), she gives me what normal humans refer to as The Look.

“You don’t need to unpack, dear,” she says with saccharine sweetness, “because we’re not going to stay here. This is temporary, a couple of weeks at most. We’re going to find an apartment, and then we’re going to find you a school, and then we’ll all be one big happy settled family again.”

Someone else must've had a shitty night, too. 

It’s not Rose’s fault I’m tired and repressed, but my head is starting to ache and I’m in no mood to be dictated to by the lady who routinely saves my ass every four years. My reply slides out in a contentious wave of deadpan sarcasm. “I’m insulted, Auntie Rose. Are you saying we aren’t a big happy family right _now_ ? We’ve got an older brother with a drinking problem, a pagan for a babysitter, and an orphaned kid with a murderous uncle after him. If that’s not a recipe for the next big Disney blockbuster, I don’t know what is. We should submit the script to their execs in Hollywood, because I tell you, we’re gonna make bank. I even have a sequel lined up: ‘Dirk the Daring Survives Thanksgiving’. Will we have a turkey? Will we _be_ the turkey? It’s too soon for anyone to call, but the cannibalistic tension and the knee-slapping laughs will make it a family classic for years to come.”

The Look tries to burn a hole in my soul, but I’m too accustomed to it for it to be effective. “I’ve already planned out the big climax. It involves a lot of swords, and a flamethrower, none of which I currently have. And as I tend to draw inspiration from the wonderful world around me,” I add, pushing my shades onto my face, “maybe you should teach me your Avada Kedavra thing, just in case shit goes sideways.”

Her eyes roll heavenward, and I swear she mutters an incantation about ‘not killing my dear charge’ before she plants a hand in my back and shoves me out the door.

The sky is a cloudless blue sky. The air is tangy with ocean minerals. And Rose is a drill sergeant from Hell, leading the charge on every kitschy tourist shop she can locate. I pull up the hood on my sweatshirt for protection against the too-bright sun and cool breeze, and do my best to dissociate. I want to be back in bed with Dave, even if he is technically dead right now. The pain in my temples pulses in time to my footsteps as she leads us past expansive white buildings, too many palm trees, and salon-coiffed tourists who look like they have far too much money to bother slumming on a sidewalk with us commoners.

It’s both like Houston and not at the same time. I’m surprised at how little homesickness the differences inspire. I guess having friends would’ve made leaving the city where I was born more poignant, but now I can have zero friends here instead of zero friends in Texas. See, it’s like I never left.

The only interesting people are up on the embankment which overlooks the ocean. There’re a few buskers, a group of college kids with hair that came straight out of an anime, and a campout of some of the most cheerful panhandlers I’ve ever seen. Not kidding, anyone who wants to recite me the plotline of Star Wars (the whole plotline) and do an impromptu tap dance deserves whatever cash I have on me. Sadly, I don’t have a wallet. It’s at the bottom of the black lake I took a midnight swim in.

Rose is more prepared, though. She passes over small purple rocks that apparently make the people pretty happy. There’s lots of grinning and laughing, and as we pass, they shower blessings like “Thanks, lady,” and “Praise be to Jesus and the lady!” showered on us. It’s kind of fun.

Too bad it doesn’t last.

We keep walking, the exuberance behind us fading away as she leads me further into the city.  Parking structures loom up, and law offices, and my headache goes from a vague, uncomfortable pressure at my temples to a weird throbbing. You’d think moving away from the beach and its apocalyptic expanse of endless, undulating ocean would be an improvement to a landlocked city boy like me, but for some reason, it just makes me sad.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The sun is starting to sink in the west, staining the sky with pink and red streaks by the time we get back to the hotel.  Rose unlocks our room with the keycard, and I follow her in on sore feet, lugging her reusable shopping bags, one of which contains organic calf’s blood that she bought at some market when I was busy staring in disbelief at the chips shelf, which had zero Doritos, one packet of Baked Lays and twenty bags of organic potato things called ‘pops’. I’m pretty salty about the lack of a decent chip selection, but even more about that blood, all puns intended. I was planning to offer my own sweet vintage to Dave while he didn’t have a ready source available, but now I’ll have to think of something else.

I set the bags down on the kitchenette counter and start to unpack. Somewhere along our walk my throat started to hurt. Add that to my headache and my inability to jack off in peace since I’m sharing a room with my family, and I can’t say I’m very good company. Working seems the best way to avoid conversation and keep my snark to myself.

Dave opens the bedroom door just as I pull some all-natural, seed-covered bread out of one of the bags. He must’ve heard us, but it still takes him a second to process us. When he does, he smiles sleepily.

My heart tries barrel roll across my chest. I fumble with the cabinet door, determined not to stare at him. I need to have some level of cool. 

Dave stretches, raising his arms to hold onto the casing, and I stop breathing when his shirt rides up, exposing the flat planes of his stomach, his pyjamas hanging low on his hips. He makes a quiet grunting sound as he hangs from the door, shoulder muscles taut, joints popping faintly. 

My crotch tries to do the teenage Surprise Boner thing. I swallow hard and viciously picture Rose naked, and it shrivels up.

“Good evening, Dave,” Rose says, composure unbreakable, as usual. I don’t get how she can be so calm around him, but it’s probably a woman thing.

I clear my throat, managing not to wince at the sting there. “Hey.”

A little more awake, Dave opens his mouth to say something, but he stops in the middle, his face suddenly doing that smooth vampire statue thing: all emotion gone like someone erased it off a whiteboard. “Dirk. You, ah… You got new sunglasses?”

“What? No,” I grump, annoyed. He just got up, and all he can say to me is small talk? Aren’t I more important than that?

And then I realize I have Ambrose’s old shades sitting on my face. Fuck.

“Okay.” His voice is still weirdly calm. I should explain, but I’m tired and I feel crappy and I don’t want to. He’s looking at me like he can’t decide what to say, and he’s afraid to say anything, so he’s going to say nothing and hope silence doesn’t screw everything up. We stare at each other, him without his glasses, his expression perfectly blank, and me with his brother’s shades, probably looking like a deer in the headlights of a semi. The bread is wilting in my hot little hand.

Luckily for all of us, Rose is way more mature than we are.

She plucks the bread from my grip and sets it down right as the microwave dings. With natural aplomb, she opens the little door and pulls out a white ceramic hotel mug filled with steaming liquid cow life. I didn't even see her get it ready. 

“Come here, Dave. Drink this.” She uses the same tone she does when she tells me to hang up my jacket or clean my room. “I believe there’s a high school nearby, but we need to discuss where we’re going to settle before we can enroll Dirk. Dirk, take your glasses off inside the house, you know better.”

I take the shades off and shove them in my hoodie pocket. Dave takes the mug with a quiet ‘thank you’. To his credit, he doesn’t shove the whole mug in his mouth and crunch down on it, spraying plasma and shards of pottery across the room. He just carries the thing to the table and sits in a chair, sipping cautiously. Good to know I don’t have to calm down a bloodthirsty monster when I’m not 100%.

Okay, maybe that was less than fair. My bad mood is taking over everything. 

“By the way, I need to go out tonight,” Rose announces once Dave's got a mouthful, and both of us start.

“Why?” I blurt. “We were out the whole fu – freakin’ day.”

Rose slides me a look that says my quick correction of language didn’t elude her. “I have clues to follow. I want to become acquainted with the local practitioners as soon as possible, to prevent any misunderstandings that may arise from my being new to the area, and to engender friendship between us. I may have you two as my family –“ She makes it sound like she’s lost the draw on that one. “— but I need my own space sometimes, and we need allies in case Ambrose should reappear.”

“What clues?” I ask. God, talking hurts, I need to stop talking. “There’s nothing out there but homeless people and swimsuit models. This place has as much culture as a postcard.”

Dave frowns, glancing at me. He looks worried. Good, he should be. I mean, I’m not going to yell at him again, we got all that out at the airport, but sexy abs or not, he still owes me for moving me halfway across the country. One bite in a public bathroom (of all places) isn’t about to pay for that. At least ten more bites are required, bathroom-free, and he’d better be thinking about how he’s going to dish those out, because I don’t think I can stand not touching him for our entire hotel stay.

He's probably not thinking about it at all.

“That’s because you weren’t paying attention,” Rose answers. “The people I gave luck stones to seemed accustomed to receiving them. They invoked the Lady, which is not something most of the poverty-stricken in this country do.”

I stare. “They were just calling you by your gender, Rose. Like ‘hey sir, want a beer’? ‘Hey lady’ is something people say, usually sexist construction workers who aren’t equated with the post-revolutionary idea of respecting women.”

Rose gives me a pitying stare, but doesn’t correct me. She obviously knows better.

Dave gazes into his mug of baby beef blood, nodding slowly. “… you’re right. You don’t need to be cooped up here if you can do good somewhere else. I can go out after you get back, or tomorrow night, since you picked up dinner.” He lifts the cup in a salute.

“Excellent.” Rose shuts the cupboard door, the rest of the groceries tucked away with no help from yours truly. “Do you need anything else while I’m out? Something we may have forgotten on our little shopping trip?”

“We can go over that in a minute,” Dave says, shooting me another too-calm look. “I want to hear about the school, too. Dirk? You want Rose to grab you anything?”

“A phone,” I say, petty to the last.

Rose’s lip quirks. “Dave will take you to get one tomorrow evening, I’m sure. You’ll survive with your computer until then, won’t you, dear?”

"Yeah, whatever." All this bullshit is making my headache worse, sending it creeping down my neck. I’m done with being upright. Fuck standing, it’s overrated.

“I’m using the bedroom,” I announce, and stalk to it without waiting for an answer. Maybe I can’t do the perverted things I want to do, but that doesn’t mean I have to sit out here while they talk shop, either. I can lay down, watch some television, maybe sleep off whatever’s bothering me. If I’m lucky, when I wake up, my headache and the need to suck Dave’s cock like a popsicle will have evaporated as thoroughly as my life back in Texas.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The knock startles me out of a confusing dream, eyes gritty and mouth open. I have about half a second to wonder why I’m so groggy before I get the answer dropped on me like an anvil on a cartoon character.

I’m dying.

There’s another knock, and Dave opens the French door before I can fully comprehend the extent of the pain running through my body. “Hey, um, you awake? Rose told me you didn’t eat dinner, and she just texted me and said if I hadn’t checked whether you wanted something, she’d curse my shoes to always go on the wrong feet. I kind of need my shoes, so. Are you hungry? You wanna go get something?”

I’m not hungry. Or if I am, I can’t tell. Every part of me is sore, every muscle is begging for me to go back to sleep and stop existing.

“Dirk?” Dave asks, his tone changing. He opens the door wider.

I do nothing but bury my face in my hot pillow. “You go ahead. I don’t want anything.”

“Ha ha. I already had dinner, thanks.” The bed dips. Dave’s room-temperature weight settles on the mattress. He pats my hip. “Want room service?”

I groan and roll an eye to look at him over my shoulder. “Don’t do that, it hurts.”

He pulls his hand back as if I’ve bitten him. “Oh. Sorry.”

I know instantly that he’s thinking about the airport bathroom. I thought we were okay with that, but I guess not. He’s like a guilt machine, put the right quarter in, and a tidal wave of self-loathing spills out. It’s getting really old.

My irritation does the exact same thing, and I say shortly, “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not a bruise. I’ve got a cold or something.”

Dave raises both brows. “A cold makes your hip hurt?”

“How about you grill me when I don’t feel like I got hit by a truck?”

“Okay, all right, time out.” He puts his hand back on my hip, pushing my shirt up enough to touch his cold fingertips to my bare skin, slide them into the waistband of my jeans and tug them down a couple inches. “I guess you’re right, I don’t see anything.”

I roll over away from his hand, pressing my stomach to the mattress to crush out another ill-timed Surprise Boner, my throat burning more sharply when it threatens to close up out of sheer lust. _Rose. Rose naked. Rose and the hotel guy downstairs, the old one. Shit, actually, that’s kind of hot –_ “I told you it wasn’t from before. And warm up your hands, you’re freezing.”

Dave pulls my shirt down. The amount of regret I feel is overwhelming.  “I’m not cold, you’re hot. Stay here, I’ll get you some Tylenol or something.”

The bed shifts like he’s about to stand, and I get up on one elbow too fast, my sore muscles protesting, “No, stop. I don’t want it. It makes my stomach hurt.”

“It does?”

I can’t blame him for the surprise in his voice. I'm lying. 

For some reason, he doesn’t argue. “Okay. Well… Rose probably has something.” He pulls his temporary phone out of his pocket, flipping it open. “I’ll call her and –“

“Don’t,” I say even faster, surprising myself right back. “I mean, she’s out there working. If you tell her I’m sick, she’s gonna run back here, and she won’t be able to get her witch groove on. Do you want to be responsible for thwarting a witch? Haven’t you ever seen Howl’s Moving Castle? Think about it, Sophie.”

“Good point, I guess.” He has no idea what I’m talking about, I can tell, but he hesitates in consideration, his thumb running back and forth over the number keys. “Still need to get your fever down, kid.”

“It’s not that bad.” I shrug, and even that small motion aches. I want to stop twisting around to look at him, but my dick is still half hard. “I’m cool. I’m only dying a little.”

Dave gives me an appraising look he must’ve learned from Rose, then shuts his phone with a quiet snap. “I know which tea is for headaches, because it’s the same stuff my mom used. I can make you that, at least. Stay here.”

I don’t make any dumb jokes about going anywhere else. I just drop back onto the bed and close my eyes. Not wanting Rose to come home makes sense, but refusing medicine just to get some pity attention from Dave?

Yep. Get on my level.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It’s been three hours, and I’m reassessing my life goals. Or, I would be, if I could think straight.

Dave is in bed with me, leaning against the headboard. The empty teacup is on the nightstand with half a piece of buttered toast. My head is on a pillow in his lap, and Dave’s fingers are in my hair, not so much stroking as playing with it, picking up individual locks and pulling gently at them, following the natural unruly cowlicks before smoothing them down again.

“Doing okay?” Dave asks quietly. His fingers are cold on my scalp. It feels nice.

“Mmhm.”

The TV bursts into applause, and I glance up at it. Dave is doing most of the watching. I can’t follow the plot. There’s too many characters, too much noise. The bright colors burn my retinas, and the constant machine sounds seem to scrape my inner ear. I shut my eyes after I make sure that yes, they’re still trying to sell that food processor, and concentrate on the feel of Dave’s thigh beneath my cheek.

“Want me to change the channel?”

“Nah,” I murmur. My brain seems to tilt slowly to one side, then the other. I'm vaguely nauseated. “… Dave.”

“What’s up, honey?”

Honey. He never calls me ‘honey’. He hasn’t done that since forever, when I was younger. When I was sure I was special and precious.

It sounds wonderful.

“Take me out back,” I say, my voice rough. It still hurts to talk.

“Out back? Why?”

“There’s no way out of this one. You gotta decapitate me.”

He hmms thoughtfully. “I’ll make sure I end your suffering as swiftly as possible, although a fever doesn’t usually call for euthanasia.”

“If you cut off my head, there won’t be any more fever. It’s simple science. I’m ready to solve one of mankind’s greatest mysteries. I’ll let you know if there’s a God.”

Dave chuckles. “Don’t shuffle off this mortal coil just yet. You’ve been sick before and managed to survive. Pretty sure you can do it now.”

“I should just be a vampire like you,” I mumble. “Fuck being sick.”

“You don’t want to do that,” Dave replies casually, pulling at my hair. “No more Doritos if you do that. No more Thanksgiving dinner, either. And say good-bye to orange juice.”

“Yeah. Good point. Maybe…”

“Maybe? Maybe what?”

I shift onto my back. The motion makes me dizzier. I draw my knees up, tenting the blanket, trying to relieve the aching stiffness in my legs. The blanket moves, cold air blowing beneath my calves, and Dave’s hand rubs gently along my limbs. It’s nice and awful at the same time. My groin tries to stir at the idea of Dave’s fingers anywhere near my ass, but it doesn’t get very far.

“Dirk? Do you want to try a bath?”

I don’t like baths that much. I like showers. I couldn’t stand in one now, though. The world is spinning, and I’m really, really tired. I wish I could sleep.

“Dirk?”

 


	6. change it up

“Dirk. Hey. Hey, honey, c'mon. _Dirk_." 

Someone’s yelling. Someone’s always yelling lately. Every other day, there’s yelling, and people are angry, and… wait. Is that...

"Dirk, you -- you gotta answer me, kid. You really gotta. Dirk, please!"

It’s Dave. It’s Dave’s voice in my head. He’s… echoing, like he’s far away. What does he want? He’s so insistent, and I’m so tired. He’s saying something about...

"Shit. Shit shit _shit_ \-- Hold still.  This is gonna --"

He’s telling me… it’ll hurt.

I’d laugh if I could. I know it’ll hurt, it already hurts. I want to tell him it’s fine, don’t worry. Don’t freak out. I’m  _fine_ , I got this… but I don’t think I do got it. Not that it matters. Whatever he’s talking about can’t hurt any more than it does right now.

He takes my hand, and instantly I'm safe. The feel of his fingers, the way he cradles me, so careful. Gentle. Dave wouldn't hurt me, Dave takes care of me. He saves me from crazy gym teachers and insane vampires and bad five-day-old Chinese food. Dave loves me. I love him.

My arm moves as he lifts it, his fingers on mine, his other hand beneath my elbow. I should move, I need to tell him that I'm seriously okay, but I'm slow, way too slow. I draw in a breath to force my mouth to move, to stop being so lazy, and half a moment later a laser-thin pain stabs me right above my wrist, jabs me like a fat wasp's sting, a needle of molten silver, a spear, sharp and intense and burning. I gasp, and finally my voice comes, weak and breathy, moaning a protest.

He wasn’t kidding. Dave doesn't lie to me, and this hurts like a motherfucking razorwire IV. This pain, though. I _know_ this pain. I remember it. I _wanted_ it.

"Quiet, baby, shhhh. Almost done. Almost --"

Icy pressure replaces the pain, and calm sluices over me, smothering the fear and the tendon-deep ache. It washes away the throbbing heat in my bones, cold water over hot coals, and I sigh as I go limp, the heat rising off me like steam from a newly-opened pot, dissipating in a puff and then gone forever. Oh, God. I'm so relaxed. Grateful.

I want to tell Dave.

I want to open my eyes. Thread my newly pain-free fingers through Dave’s hair. Let him know that he's rescued me once again. 

There's no chance. Something soft and warm presses against my lips. Something moist teases them, and with another languid moan, I open for him. I taste Dave, and salt and liquid copper, and then the fire returns, igniting on my tongue, a line of flame that rips down my throat and rushes into my belly, dragging a startled noise out of me. I gasp, the pain a hundred times worse, burning me, blackening me, charring me inside out --

And then behind the hurt, like a wind roaring in after a nuclear explosion, comes the _power_.

Strength fills me, banishing the headache, the exhaustion I’ve lived with for weeks now, even the languid peace. The fire bursts outward, follows every vein like a fuse, burning its way to the dynamite in my chest. I open my eyes, instantly awake, to find Dave’s face is inches from mine. His eyes are cadmium red. Fire-engine red. Glowing and sparking like the stuff inside me. His lips are parted, the bottom lip smeared with blood.

“Dirk,” he whispers, staring at me, hands cupping my face. “Don't be scared. You’ll be okay.”

The heat is building inside. I’m going to explode, I can feel it. The pain fortifies me now, readies me for the grand finale. I’m a flare, a firework, a trainload of C4. “What did you do?” I whisper back, exhilarated and afraid. There’s blood on his mouth. There’s only one person here with blood to spare: me.

That’s  _my_ blood.

Dave’s gaze jumps from me to my arm, to my chest, to my eyes. He shakes his head, a tiny gesture, so negative, so small. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he means it.

I take in a breath as the fire inside me reaches my lungs, and the pressure swells and pushes against my heart. It wants in, or out, I don’t know, it’s crushing me, or expanding, and I grab Dave, or try to, but he has both my arms, and I can’t move. I make another noise, a tiny cry as I try to say something, but Dave is so close, too close. He fills my vision, kisses my forehead, and hisses, “ _Sleep_.”

And I do.


	7. it is enough

  * Dave stretches out beside Dirk’s sleeping form, head resting on his outstretched arm, and caresses Dirk’s cheek with the back of one hand. He follows the line of Dirk’s face; traces Dirk’s lower lip with a wondering finger; travels the soft, smooth curve with the lightest of touches. Every miniscule fold is worth studying; every crevice a marvel. He can feel Dirk’s breath along his skin, slow and shallow, almost soundless.
  * Dirk has fantasized about Dave doing this. Dave knows that now, knows that secret and so many more. He’s seen inside Dirk’s mind, learned the truth as he touched Dirk’s soul and marked it in fearful desperation.
  * Dirk loves him. He loves Dave in a way Dave thought impossible to anyone who knew the truth about what he was. Dirk knows, Dirk has seen it for himself, and he doesn’t care. He loves Dave anyway.
  * Dirk sighs, shifting, and Dave gathers him up, cradles him. He presses his cheek to Dirk’s, his cool lips to Dirk’s pulse, and basks in the normal, steady warmth there, the healthy life, the gift of Dave’s blood.
  * For now, it’s enough that Dave’s loneliness is gone. For now, it’s enough that Dirk welcomes Dave’s affection, as much as Dave longs for Dirk’s.
  * Rose is gone. For now, they have all night.



 

END PART 8


End file.
